


Trust Implicit

by lears_daughter



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lears_daughter/pseuds/lears_daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. A fill for the 1stclass_kink prompt: “girl!erik topping...charles.” Now with added angst and schmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Implicit

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.

They celebrated Alex’s success at dinner that night. The students were boisterous in their cheer—after Shaw’s attack last week they needed a reason to smile—and Hank was positively glowing with pride about the suit he’d invented to channel Alex’s gift. Charles couldn’t help but notice the way Raven gravitated toward Hank, her attraction to him painfully obvious, but even his fraternal protective instincts weren’t enough to keep his attention.

No, his eyes were drawn, as ever, to the solemn, silent young woman sitting at the other end of the table opposite him. She ate with the same efficient focus she exhibited in every aspect of her life, methodically cutting her steak into bite sized pieces, chewing with no evidence of pleasure at the taste. Her face, imperiously slim, was set in a thoughtful frown. If Charles hadn’t been able to feel the waves of fierce pride emanating from her, he would have believed her to be entirely unmoved by their students’ accomplishment.

“Erika,” Charles said, wanting to see her eyes, to feel the peculiar flood of warmth that always filled him when she looked at him, “what do you think we should use for Alex’s next target?”

She looked up, her blue blue eyes locking with his, her lips curling with the slightest hint of a smile, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Then her eyes slid to Sean, who paled under her calm scrutiny. “Perhaps a flying target?” she suggested lightly.

“Hell yeah!” Alex said, grinning.

“I could try to design a suit that would protect against Alex’s power so it would be safe,” Hank added, frowning at his plate as if he could already see the necessary numbers and equations appearing before his eyes.

Charles raised his eyebrows at Erika, whose smug amusement he thought he could have sensed even without his gift.

“Don’t worry, Sean,” Charles said, taking pity on the poor boy before he could hyperventilate. “I think we’ll stick to inanimate objects for the time being.”

After dinner, they left the children and Moira to their own devices and retired to the study for brandy and a game of chess. As usual, Charles’ mind was only half on the game. The other half was enchanted by the play of warm firelight across Erika’s pale skin. He wanted to run his fingers through her silky brown hair, to run his tongue along the graceful length of her neck.

“Checkmate.” Erika used the tip of one slender finger, its nail unpainted, to tip over Charles’ king. “Charles, you’ve been distracted all evening. Am I that boring?”

Charles blinked. “What? Boring—no. That is—I was just—” He cut himself off when he felt that same amusement from her that he’d felt all evening.

He’d been a ladies’ man all his life, yet somehow Erika could fluster him without even trying. But then, she was so much more interesting—and damaged—than anyone else he knew. She was certainly a far cry from the co-eds he used to pick up at Oxford.

“You’re doing it again, my friend,” she said. “If chess doesn’t interest you, perhaps we should call it a night.”

He choked back an instinctive protest. Swallowed. “Perhaps that would be for the best,” he agreed, his voice a bit strangled.

She rose smoothly and walked around the table, laying her hand on his shoulder. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “We could call it a night together. Charles.”

The heat in her voice was unmistakable. Charles felt his face flush. He stared at the chess set, afraid of what he might see if he looked up. “Together?”

Her hand squeezed his shoulder once, then her fingers meandered a path across his collar bone and up his neck to grasp his chin. Firmly, inexorably, she drew his face up until he had no choice but to look her in the eye. What he saw there made his mouth go dry.

“Yes or no, Charles?”

Charles swallowed. Then, ever so slowly, he stood. “Yes.”

She ran her thumb along his jaw. “Then stop thinking for once,” she said, her voice low and husky, “and come with me.”

He followed her up a flight of stairs and down the hall, barely registering the familiar surroundings until the door to his own room flung itself open—Erika using her power, of course, though he’d never seen her use it so casually before. He followed her inside and felt the door slam shut behind him.

The next thing he knew, he found himself tossed against the wall—she must be using the metal in his watch and belt buckle, he thought with the corner of his mind still capable of thought—and then she was on him, her lips seizing his in a kiss that stole his breath from his lungs.

She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Charles himself. Her body fit perfectly against his. Her hands came up to grip his hair as her tongue plunged into his mouth, demanding.

She tasted of brandy and something sweeter. Something that sent his senses reeling.

He had to touch her. He placed one hand on her hip, the other gliding up her body, intent on cupping one of her breasts, feeling the nipple peak beneath his thumb. Instead, before his hand traveled much above her waist it was jerked away and held against the wall.

Definitely the metal in his watch.

She pulled away from the kiss and mouthed along his jaw. “Let me,” she murmured.

Still using her power to hold him in place, she stepped back and unbuttoned her shirt, shrugging out of it more rapidly than he’d hoped. She removed her bra—simple, utilitarian, black—with the same brisk efficiency, leaving herself bare from the waist up. She was pale, too thin, and scarred. There were so many scars.

Charles’ breathing became labored as he ran his eyes over her, drinking in a sight he’d been longing for for months now. When he lifted his eyes to hers again he was greeted with a flat, almost confrontational stare.

“You’re perfect,” he said hoarsely. Just for an instant he connected their minds, let her feel his passion. _Your scars are part of who you are_ , he told her, showing her how he wished he could run his tongue along each of the pale white lines on her torso, along the ugly blue numbers on her forearm. _I want to touch every part of you._

The glint in her eye softened and for the first time she looked away, unable to bear his honest admiration. Erika Lensherr was no kind of coward, though, and a moment later she was looking at him again, her hand boldly moving up her own body to caress her breast.

Charles strained unconsciously against the power pinning him to the wall. (He knew she’d made great strides in her abilities lately, but this kind of casual use of her power, especially while distracted by other things, was a stunning demonstration of what she would one day be capable of.)

“Erika,” he moaned, writhing against the restraint as she brought her thumb to her lips, ran her tongue along it, and then returned it to her nipple, dragging it along the firm peak with a sigh of pleasure. “Please.”

She grabbed either side of his shirt and yanked, sending buttons flying. Leaving the shirt hanging from his arms, she swooped in to lick his nipple, making him groan. Her hands went lower, unfastening his belt and pulling off the belt loop by loop. Charles threw his head back as she mouthed her way across his chest, mouth hot and moist, to fasten onto his other nipple.

There was the sound of a zipper sliding down and then her hand was on him, freeing his hard length from the confines of his trousers and pants.

“Erika!” he gasped again, his knees weakening, grateful now for the firm pressure of his watch holding him up. He was more aroused than he ever remembered being in his life.

She slid gracefully to her knees, her mouth trailing down his torso, pausing for her tongue to delve into his belly button, then down further. She exhaled heavily on his cock, a hot breath of air, then with no further ado she leaned in and swallowed him all the way down. For a moment he forgot how to breathe, his free hand—the one not pinned by his watch—straying from the wall to tangle in her hair as her lips and tongue moved around him.

He meant only to show his appreciation, but he felt the moment the flashback hit her—her, on her knees like this, unwilling, powerless, so young, Shaw moaning and fucking her mouth—and he barely had time to let his hand drop before she was leaping away, putting distance between them, lips swollen, eyes dilated, breath quick with terror.

Her power released him at the same time, a gesture that surprised him with the trust it symbolized. Even wracked with a pain that even Charles could barely imagine, Erika would not use her power on him except for pleasure.

He stood shakily, embarrassed by the continuing evidence of his arousal. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have…”

She glared at him through the curtain of her hair. “Shouldn’t have what?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t have agreed to this?”

“Shouldn’t have done anything you didn’t want me to do,” he said.

He could feel her struggle to slow her breathing, her shame at her reaction. He knew how hard she tried to keep up the appearance of control, just as he knew that that control was never as perfect as she imagined it to be.

“I would think you, of all people, would understand, Charles,” she said. “I _want_ you to be able to touch me. I want _you_ to be able to do anything you’d like to me.”

He took three cautious steps forward, watching—and listening—for any sign that his proximity was making her uncomfortable. There was one thing, he thought, that Shaw had never done—at least, he’d never done it in the way that Charles wanted to do it.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

She hesitated. He wasn’t offended. She’d never trusted anyone, not since her mother’s death. And even if she did trust him, admissions of emotion—which she couldn’t help but perceive as vulnerability—would never come easily to her.

“You know I do,” she said at last.

He took one more step toward her, brushing his hand against her cheek in a caress, and then claimed her lips with a gentle, tender kiss. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, part want, part need, and he drew away, though their lips tried to cling together.

“I trust you with my life,” he said. He stepped back and held his arms out at his sides, as if to demonstrate that he was unarmed. “Do with me what you will.”

She hesitated again, her hand drifting up to press two fingers to her lips. Her eyebrows narrowed in contemplation before, finally, she nodded, that somewhat alarming, highly appealing gleam reappearing in her eyes.

“On the bed,” she ordered.

His erection, which had wilted over the past few minutes, twitched at her tone. Obediently, he walked to his large four poster bed, pulling back the covers and lying down.

Erika licked her lips. Then she stalked toward him, her body sleek and strong, the sight of her wanting him enough to send his pulse racing again. She came to the foot of the bed and reached for his shoes, untying and loosening the laces, drawing the shoes off and tossing them aside. His socks quickly followed.

She crawled up the bed, straddling his legs, just far enough to take hold of his trousers and pants. She drew them off, gradually, so gradually, the hairs on his legs rising with exposure to the air, until finally he was naked.

He felt a tug at his wrist and obediently moved both hands over his head, leaving himself completely at her mercy.

She moved around the foot of the bed and her hand rested against his left ankle, then drifted up his leg, pausing here and there to knead a tense muscle, showing him erogenous zones he hadn’t known he had.

She reached for his cock, stroked it, smirking when his breath hitched. Sweat beaded on his forehead as she caressed him, her thumb stroking the head, then reached down with her other hand to gently cup his balls.

When he was fully erect and straining against the need to thrust into her hand, to _move_ , she stripped off the rest of her clothing, then climbed onto the bed and straddled him again.

She bent down, her breasts pressed to his chest, and kissed him again, a kiss hungrier than the one he’d given her but softer than the ones she’d stolen from him before. She cupped his face in her hands as if he was something precious, as if she never wanted to let him go. She didn’t pull away until the need for oxygen intruded, and then she only pulled back far enough to press their foreheads together. He reached for her with his gift—this was another way Shaw could never have interacted with her—and showed her his joy even as he drank in hers.

Skin to skin, chest to chest, mind to mind they touched, until Charles did not know where he ended and she began.

“I never thought I would have this,” said Erika, who had had so little love in her life.

“Neither did I,” said Charles, who had such a capacity for love and yet had never experienced the overwhelming emotion he felt now.

She brushed her lips against his one last time, then sat up, sliding back until he felt the head of his erection brush against the apex of her thighs, sending a jolt of pleasure and anticipation through his body.

“One hand,” she told him, her forehead furrowed.

He hesitated to make certain she was sure. When she simply raised an eyebrow, he slowly pulled his left hand—the one with the watch—from the headboard and held it out to her. She took it in her smaller hand, the feel of her smooth palm against the back of his hand somehow increasing his desperation, then guided his palm to her breast.

He cupped her, caressed her, gently pinched her nipple and heard her sigh. She reached down to grasp his cock and guided it to her entrance, then sank down, her back arching.

They gasped simultaneously. It took every ounce of self-restraint that Charles had not to thrust up into her. She was so tight, so wet, her inner walls clenching him in a grip that made his eyes roll back in his head. Perhaps the greatest pleasure of all was the knowledge that she had chosen to share this with him. That she wanted this from _him_.

She had never done this of her own volition before.

A few heartbeats passed, giving Charles time to come to terms with the new sensation and keep from embarrassing himself, and then she began to move. Slowly at first, rocking against him, her hand still holding his hand to her breast. Then she began to move faster, quick movements of her hips, and their eyes locked and stayed that way. Neither of them looked away as she began to thrust herself down onto him as hard as she could, as his hips made tiny, inadvertent thrusting motions up against her, as their movement became erratic, their breathing harsh, and then she reached down and rubbed her clit and her walls spasmed around him and they came together in a burst of pleasure so intense that Charles, for an instant, could feel every mind for miles around, and Erika warped every loose piece of metal in the mansion.

“Erika,” Charles groaned, releasing her breast, his hand twisting against hers until they were clutching each other, their fingers entwined.

“Charles,” Erika gasped, still moving against him, trembling from the aftershock. “Charles, Charles, Charles, mein Leibster.”

She didn’t slide off of him until several minutes had passed and they had recovered their composure somewhat. To his pleasure, instead of leaving, as he had half expected her to, she curled against his side. A tugging sensation from the watch at his wrist was all the permission he needed to wrap his arm around her. He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathed in her scent.

She had never done this before, either. He hoped she would never have reason to do it with anyone else.


End file.
